


Still

by ImagineYourself



Series: A Thousand Unfinished Books [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bunker Fic, Dean Winchester is bad at feelings, Fallen Castiel, Love Confessions, M/M, Post S8, Romance, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineYourself/pseuds/ImagineYourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Songfic to "Still" by Daughter.</p><p>He wasn’t sure exactly what this thing was, but it worked. They were “normal” during the day, falling into their usual pattern of joking around, sharing sighs at Sam’s research, and glaring at each other heatedly during their many arguments over various things. Then night would come and Dean would find his legs carrying him across the hallway, or he would wake up in the morning, hands tangled up in Cas’ warm skin, knowing that sometime in the night, Cas had slipped into his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't done one of these in a while because I'm working on Ricochet, but I just had the idea and wrote it quick!
> 
> Playlist is:  
> Still ~ Daughter  
> All The Same ~ Sick Puppies  
> Open Your Eyes ~ Snow Patrol

_I’ll wrap up my bones_

_And leave them_

_Out of this home_

_Out on the road_

“Dean, wait!” Cas called out, chasing him through the bunker as Dean grabbed his jacket and angrily pulled shoes onto his feet while he moved.

He didn’t grace Cas with an answer, but when Sam blocked the way to the door, the Impala’s keys in his hand, Dean had to growl out a warning. “Give me the keys, Sam.”

“No.” It would have sounded stronger if his voice hadn’t been soft and hoarse from the weeks and months of sickness tearing him apart from the inside.

"Give me the fucking keys,” Dean said again through clenched teeth as Cas finally caught up with him, standing just a couple of paces behind, staring at the brothers with wide eyes. When Sam still didn’t relent, Dean shoved past him, taking them and not looking as his brother stumbled.

Dean didn’t hear anyone following him as he left the bunker, slamming the door locked behind him. Even upset, he didn’t want to leave a chance for anything to happen to the two. He slid into his beloved Impala, glancing around but barely taking a moment to savor the sound of her engine roaring to life before he took off onto the road, tires spinning as he headed towards the setting sun.

 

_Two feet standing on a principle_

_Two hands longing for each other’s warmth_

_Cold smoke seeping out of colder throats_

_Darkness falling leaves nowhere to go_

He could have been driving for minutes or hours before his sense of time was lost and he found himself parked on the shoulder of a mountain road, the headlights of the car the only light in the night. Beside him, the shoulder dropped off the side of the mountain, but Dean wasn’t afraid. He trusted the balance of his feet on the edge. He trusted them more than he trusted himself.

Kicking one foot out, he knocked a few pebbles down the cliff, shoving his hands into his pockets and heaving out a sigh that colored the air with white clouds. Here, alone in the cold, he could deal with it. There, with two others seemingly always breathing down his neck, he felt suffocated.

It had all started years ago, but it took them ages to figure out what it meant, and even then, Dean wasn’t sure he understood. He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t good with _feelings_ , wasn’t good with figuring things out that weren’t the black and white he’d grown up with.

“How the hell was I supposed to react when the guy freaking tells me that?” he muttered angrily into the night air, leaning back against the side of the Impala.

Dean knew he shouldn’t have run. He knew that he should have stayed, should have said something, should have told Cas how he felt instead of running away like he’d been doing for four goddamned years. And yet he didn’t.

Everything was falling to pieces, even more so than it had been over the past year, and this _thing_ that Dean and Cas had… well, it was finally working, and then Cas had to go and say _that…_

 

_It’s spiraling down_

_Biting words like a wolf howling_

_Hate is spitting out each other’s mouths_

_But we’re still sleeping like we’re lovers_

More than three months earlier was the first time it happened. Dean awoke, tangled up in another’s limbs, feeling the heat of another body against his chest. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was… nice.

He didn’t remember much from the night before. Cas had been crying—again—and Sam had sent Dean to his room to comfort him. They’d talked for a long while, Cas leaning on Dean’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly the fallen angel’s mouth was on his and he had a lap full of dirty trench coat.

When he woke, he realized he was naked and that a head of messy dark hair was tickling his nose. Maybe a year ago he would have been freaked out, he would have jumped away or shouted something. Instead, he just pressed a kiss into that hair and waited until the former angel was awake before he picked up his clothes and went towards the shower.

Later that day, Sam found them in the kitchen, shouting at each other about Cas leaving—again. For the entire week that Cas had been staying with them, each day he’d mentioned something about leaving to go in search of his fallen brothers and sisters. And each time, Dean had said that it would be stupid to go on his own and that he himself sure as hell wouldn’t go when he had Sam to take care of.

Eventually Cas left the room and a fuming Dean and disappeared into the lower corridors of the bunker where not even Sam ventured to go. Dean somehow convinced himself that he didn’t care. He told himself that it didn’t matter. And he promised himself that the night before didn’t mean anything.

But in the early hours of morning, when Dean lay restless in his bedroom, the door slowly opened and a figure snuck in, silently closing the door and slipping into the bed beside him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cas eventually whispered. Dean just snaked his arms around him and held him close, not saying a word.

 

_Still with feet touching_

_Still with eyes meeting_

_Still our hands match_

_Still with hearts beating_

There had been many nights like that since then. Not every night, but most. They were “normal” during the day, falling into their usual pattern of joking around, sharing sighs at Sam’s research, and glaring at each other heatedly during their many arguments over various things. Then night would come and Dean would find his legs carrying him across the hallway, or he would wake up in the morning, hands tangled up in Cas’ warm skin, knowing that sometime in the night, Cas had slipped into his bed.

Sam didn’t know, and Dean hoped to keep it that way. He wasn’t sure exactly what this _thing_ was, but it worked for them for the most part. He didn’t have to say anything, he just had to use his body, and he knew exactly how to do that. When he would slide his arms around Cas’ waist, or knot his fingers in that perpetual bedhead, or pull the shirt off Cas’ shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as mouths worked skin and fingers tugged fabric. They didn’t need words.

Until one evening, that is, as Sam read in the front room and Dean and Cas cooked dinner in the kitchen. After falling, Cas had needed things to occupy his time, so he took up cooking for their little family, and after a couple of weeks, he started getting really good. It was to the point where Dean became his helper instead of the other way around. The only thing no one could beat Dean on was his burgers, which he was in the middle of prepping when Cas blurted out something Dean never thought he would hear.

“I think I’m in love with you, Dean.”

Dean kept cutting the tomato in front of him into thin, perfect slices for a moment before Cas’ words actually caught up with his head. He froze, knife poised mid-cut, spine straightening. Looking sharply over his shoulder, he found Cas leaning against the counter, watching him carefully, expression guarded. “What?” he spluttered stupidly.

Cas glanced at his feet. “I… have been reading about how humans know when they are in love and—” he paused, biting his lip. “And I think that I am in love with you.” When Dean didn’t say anything, Cas took a step forward, reaching out his hands slightly.

The older Winchester took a step back, setting down the knife. He felt himself shake his head slightly before turning tail and walking briskly through the hallway towards the main room.

“Dean, wait!”

 

_Two feet standing on a principle_

_Two hands digging in each other’s wounds_

_Cold smoke seeping out of colder throats_

_Darkness falling leaves nowhere to move_

He heard the sound of a car before he saw the headlights. It was heading towards him, screeching to a halt a little ways down the shoulder. He barely turned his head to see a figure getting out of the passenger side and jogging to him.

“Dean,” he heard Cas say loudly, nearing him. He straightened up and turned to meet the former angel, face expressionless. Cas looked murderous. He stopped barely a foot away from the hunter, eyes flicking over Dean’s face without saying another word.

Dean knew that he was expected to say something. He could see the bright hurt in Cas’ eyes and the hard set of his jaw. His fists clenched inside of his pockets. “You can’t just drop that on me, Cas,” he managed to whisper. He watched as Cas’ eyes slowly widened as he leaned away from Dean.

No, Dean Winchester was not very good with putting his heart into words, but he was a genius at speaking with his body. He grabbed the lapels of Cas’ trench coat, the one he’d kept around even though it was battered and bloody by the time he made it to them after the fall. The same one that Dean had met him in, seen him in for years, had saved from the water when the leviathans took him. The one he’d been wearing when they first kissed. The one Dean had slipped off of him more times than he could count, or really wanted to count.

Cas put his hands over Dean’s as they leaned into each other, lips melding together as they had so many times before.

 _I’m sorry,_ Dean’s kiss said. _Sorry, I’m an idiot._

And maybe he wasn’t quite ready to say those few little words back to him out loud, and even though Cas couldn’t read his mind anymore, he knew that Cas knew.

 

_Still with feet touching_

_Still with eyes meeting_

_Still our hands match_

_Still with hearts beating_


End file.
